


Offer

by ThisIsNotAProfile



Series: Primum Non Nocere [1]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-20
Updated: 2016-08-20
Packaged: 2018-08-10 01:05:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7824187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThisIsNotAProfile/pseuds/ThisIsNotAProfile
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“It’s a pleasure, Commander Morrison.” She held her smile, a nervous reflex as she toyed with her hands. “I don’t mean to be rude, but - may I ask why we are meeting? I’ve a board meeting in thirty minutes on the other side of the hospital. It’s really quite important.”</p><p>Morrison returned her smile, looking to Amari and Reyes before turning back to her.</p><p>“Well - we’d like to offer you a job.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Offer

The hallway was long, sterile, and quiet, its construction seamless in every conceivable fashion. Even the paint looked like it had been applied with some kind of laser rather than a brush, but as Doctor Angela Ziegler strode towards the conference room at the end of the hall, the last thing on her mind was the intricacies of the walls. She had a department to run, rounds to make, pre- and post-operative checks to do, and if that hadn’t been enough, she’d had this meeting thrust upon her as soon as she’d clocked in. She’d asked if it could wait only to be told no, it couldn’t, and that she was to proceed to Conference Room 4E at her first available opportunity. She’d asked whom it was _with_ , only to be told that was privileged information - she would have to find out by meeting them.

Despite herself, a scowl made its way across her face, and she muttered something unkind in German as she quickened her strides, her hands clenching into fists. She hadn’t been the head of surgery six months and already everyone was finding excuses to make room for themselves in her schedule, from the old guard constantly tut-tutting her to dignitaries and donors butting in on what precious little free time she had left. The only difference this time was that whomever it was she was meeting had an inclination for intrigue that she distinctly lacked these days.

(“Privileged information”. _Scheisse_.)

She pivoted on her heel as she reached the conference room, grabbed the doorknob in one hand, and wrenched it open. She strode into the room- 

-and stopped dead in her tracks.

She’d only seen Commander Morrison during the occasional televised press conference. Somehow, he was taller in person, his blond hair combed neatly to one side and his stocky frame filling out his suit as though it had been custom-tailored for him. Flanking him on either side was a woman with light brown skin and a tattoo under her left eye and a tall, goateed Hispanic man with a scar running across his right cheekbone. They’d stood up as she entered, displaying their ensembles - suits that were businesslike, yet at the same time entirely forgettable.

“Doctor Ziegler.” Morrison smiled, gesturing to a chair at the other end of the table. “Please, have a seat.”

She hesitated for a moment before complying, settling into the chair as though it was inlaid with sandpaper. Morrison whispered something to the woman next to him as he took his seat, and she nodded, walking over to close and lock the door before returning to her seat next to Morrison. Angela could see now that Morrison had several manila folders and a pen in front of him, the folders neatly stacked one atop the other. There was writing atop them - bold strokes in black ink, but nothing she could make out from here.

“As you probably know, I’m Commander Morrison of the Overwatch task force. With me is my executive officer, Captain Amari-” 

The brown-skinned woman offered a smile and a raised hand in greeting. 

“-and Captain Reyes, head of our Special Activities Division.” 

The Hispanic man nodded, his gaze steady. Angela nodded and smiled to both of them before turning to look at Morrison.

“It’s a pleasure, Commander Morrison.” She held her smile, a nervous reflex as she toyed with her hands. “I don’t mean to be rude, but - may I ask why we are meeting? I’ve a board meeting in thirty minutes on the other side of the hospital. It’s really quite important.”

Morrison returned her smile, looking to Amari and Reyes before turning back to her.

“Well - we’d like to offer you a job.”

She felt her jaw slacken.

Morrison took one of the folders off the pile and opened it.

“We’ve compiled a dossier based on your academic and professional records. You’re a prodigy - three-time valedictorian, record-high marks on your entrance and assessment exams, glowing remarks from your professors at-” He stopped and squinted. “Universi- Universit-”

“Universität Heidelberg.”

“-thank you. Universität _Heidelberg_ ,” he continued, enunciating the word for his own benefit, “and an almost continuous stream of surgical breakthroughs and innovations to your name.” 

He took a stapled packet out of the folder, glancing over the title. “We were particularly intrigued by your latest publication, ‘Hemostatic and Antibacterial Applications of Nanoparticles’.” Morrison squinted again, turning the paper around to show her. “That’s the correct translation, right?”

“Yes.”

He smiled again. “Good to know. How’d it feel to get that one in the New England Journal?”

She sighed, tugging on her collar. “If I’m being honest, Commander Morrison, it’s only set the bar higher for me.”

“But you’ve handled the pressure well.” Morrison leaned back in his chair, interlacing his fingers over his stomach. “From student to resident to fellow to head of surgery, all by 24. You show tremendous ability, Doctor Ziegler. We’d like to have someone like you on our team.”

There was a beat of silence as Angela glanced between the three of them. Amari offered another soft smile, but Reyes remained expressionless as Morrison waited for her answer. She’d read about them in the news reports - soldiers who raced around the world like knights-errant of the 21st century, stopping terrorist attacks and saving hostages before most people had even gotten to their breakfast table. There was an element of undeniable adventure to the position, a certain derring-do that you’d usually find only in children’s books.

And yet, there was a nagging feeling in the back of her mind that said the glamour was but a thin layer of gilding to hide the reality of their work. To be sure, they were well intentioned, but their actions spoke louder than any pitch they could think up to dazzle her. Theirs was an organization built on violent principles, on effecting quick and bloody ends to those who would dare endanger global peace. She was no bleeding-heart - sometimes violence was the only answer - but from what she’d seen, Overwatch had been all too eager to treat it as an all-purpose salve for the world’s ills. The thought sickened her - her shoulders tensed, and she leaned forward, putting her hands on the table as she took a deep breath.

“With respect, Commander - I cannot in good conscience accept your offer.”

Morrison blinked, his brow furrowing.

She continued, her tone even. “If you have indeed compiled a dossier on me, then you know I lost my parents to the Omnic Crisis when I was just a child - in fact, that was what motivated me to become a doctor. I swore to myself that I would do all I could to put an end to the kind of bloodshed that had taken them from me.”

She reached under her coat to palm the locket she kept in one of the pockets.

“Through my studies, I have become intimate with the end products of violence, and I have grown to detest it. What victories it offers are illusory, and what peace it brings is ephemeral. It shatters bodies, minds, spirits, families, and communities, while doing nothing to mend those who inflict it. In the end, it is an enemy of us all. The blood you shed may be out of goodwill, but it is only contributing to an endless cycle. I will have no part in it.”

She leaned back in her seat, regarding Morrison. He’d pulled his mouth to one side as he digested her response. He looked to Amari, who glanced between him and Angela by way of response. He turned to Reyes, who leaned back in his chair, crossed his arms over his chest, and shrugged.

He sighed, rubbing his jaw before turning back to Angela. “For what it’s worth, Doctor Ziegler, I’d like to emphasize that the military mission of Overwatch is by no means all there is to the task force. Now that the Omnic Crisis is over, we’re looking to expand into more peaceful pursuits - humanitarian assistance, building infrastructure in developing countries, scientific research and development, that sort of thing.” The smile he offered her now was wry. “You wouldn’t just be patching up soldiers on a battlefield.”

“You miss my point, Commander Morrison. Your organization and I differ on philosophical grounds. I cannot work with a group that insists on maintaining peace through force.”

Morrison rubbed the bridge of his nose with one finger as he stared at a nearby wall. Eventually, he let his hand drop into his lap before turning back to regard Angela.

“May I be frank with you, Doctor Ziegler?”

“Please.”

Morrison nodded, leaning forward in his seat. “I hope you’ll pardon my crudity, but - war sucks. We know. We’ve been there. That’s why we train to effect as quick a resolution as possible to it.”

He pointed to Reyes and Amari. “We don’t kid ourselves, Doctor - we’re necessary evils conducting a very bloody business. But with a sandbox this big, there’s bound to be more than a few people who, be it by circumstance or upbringing or just plain old _meanness_ , get their kicks out of knocking over other people’s sandcastles. And so there’s got to be people willing to duke it out with them and put a stop to what they’re doing. The alternative is living in fear of them. That’s not what I want for this world, and I’m sure that’s not what _you_ want, either.”

He put his elbows on the table, clasping one palm with the other and rubbing his thumbs over the sides of his hands as he looked at her. “We’re the stop-gap, you see. You’re the long-term.”

Angela cocked an eyebrow, silent.

He lowered his hands to the table. “Doctor Ziegler - we are offering you an opportunity to expand the scope of your practice a hundred-fold. With our resources, you can be at flashpoints in a matter of hours and perform operations our grandparents would regard as miracles. Wherever the downtrodden are in need of help, wherever the sick are in need of relief, wherever there are wounded in need of healing - we can bring you to them.” He spread his hands. “All you need to do is work with us.”

She bit her lip, breaking eye contact with Morrison as she glanced down to the table. He had a way with words and logic, that was to be sure. The only issue now would be if she could trust him to keep his word. And he always did - at least, that was what the UN liked people to believe. But if she left here…

She did the math. The department would default to the next most senior surgeon; her patients would be transferred into the care of another, and she would likely be given an address for all her correspondence to be forwarded to. Logically, there was no reason not to go along with this - but whom among them operated on logic alone?

She fidgeted in her seat, one hand running over the other. “Can I at least have some time to think about it?”

Morrison offered an apologetic smile. “I’m afraid not, Doctor Ziegler. We, ah - like to minimize uncertainty in our line of work.” He spread his hands, the smile fading somewhat. “We’re going to need an answer from you one way or the other before you leave this room.”

She nodded, tugging at her lower lip with her teeth as the debate raged inside her head, two sides pushing and pulling her towards one course of action or the other.

She remembered her promotion to department head, flashbulbs lighting up the pressroom as the director shook her hand.

She remembered her graduation from medical school, the auditorium exploding with cheers as she walked up to the stage to deliver her speech.

She remembered her parents lying cold and dead on the floor of the medical tent, still in their scrubs as the scent of gunpowder and blood mixed in the air.

She looked up, locked eyes with Morrison, opened her mouth, and-

**Author's Note:**

> Well, that was a fun little bit to write.
> 
> Of course, I cheated on the ending, but odds are you already know it, and what fun is there in telling a story to someone who already knows it?
> 
> Here’s a fun drinking game: take a shot every time I mention a character’s smile or a character fucking around with their hands.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed! Reviews make me feel all warm and fuzzy, like I just swallowed a kitten.
> 
> Odds are this will all get Jossed in the graphic novel coming out in November, but [in the immortal words of Grandpa Rick...](https://youtu.be/XaECD-f6Z78?t=14)


End file.
